


Recovery

by tastewithouttalent



Category: Ookiku Furikabutte | Big Windup!
Genre: Fever, M/M, Masturbation, No Plot/Plotless, Phone Calls & Telephones, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-07
Updated: 2014-07-07
Packaged: 2018-02-06 02:53:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1841605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Abe knows who it has to be, and he’s been waiting for this call all day, even in the worst of his delirium, so he groans and rolls over to grab for the phone as soon as he catches the sound." Abe has a fever. Mihashi calls him after school.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Recovery

If it were anyone else, Abe would let the call ring itself into silence. He’s exhausted, his whole body aching with the lingering lethargy of the fever that broke earlier in the afternoon, and all he really wants to do is go back to sleep, even though he knows he should get up and eat something before he passes out for the night. But he knows who it has to be, and he’s been waiting for this call all day, even in the worst of his delirium, so he groans and rolls over to grab for the phone as soon as he catches the sound.

“Ren,” he sighs into the receiver.

“Abe-kun,” Mihashi says on the other side of the line. “Ah. I -- I mean, Takaya.”

Abe huffs a laugh, rolls over onto his back on the bed and settles the phone more comfortably against his ear. “How was practice?”

“Oh!” Mihashi sounds startled, like he wasn’t expecting the question. Of course, that’s such a regular response that Abe has entirely given up on determining  _why_ , exactly, the other boy is startled by a perfectly ordinary conversation. “I-It was good.”

“Tell me what you did,” Abe orders. The sound of Mihashi’s voice is soothing some part of him he didn’t even know was stressed; it’s been weeks since he went a whole day without seeing the other boy, and since his fever comes with the danger of in-person contagion the phone is as close as he’s going to get for today.

Mihashi takes a breath, like he’s bracing himself for an extended speech, and Abe cuts in to head off the panic he can hear collecting in the other’s inhale. “Take your time, there’s no rush. I don’t have anything else to do until I’m better.”

“Are-are you getting better?”

“I will be,” Abe sighs. “I might be back tomorrow, if I get enough rest.”

“Ah.” Mihashi’s breath catches. “Maybe -- you s-should sleep? So you can come back.”

“It’s still early,” Abe points out. “I’ll sleep right after this, okay?” Then he pauses to take in what the other boy said, processes the words through his Mihashi-translator. The smile that pulls at his mouth comes easily, flushes his skin with warm happiness instead of the feverish burn he’s had all morning.

“I miss you too,” he says. The words come out gruffer than he intended, rougher and more quiet, but he can hear Mihashi’s breath catch so he knows his meaning wasn’t lost under the delivery. “It’s.” He pauses, takes a deep breath, shuts his eyes and forces his voice to go gentle. “It’s weird not seeing you.”

“Takaya,” Mihashi’s voice says, no trace of stutter or hesitation in his voice, and that makes Abe smile so wide he has to roll sideways to bury his face in his pillow even though there’s no one to see his expression.

“Yeah,” he says, clearing his throat back into stability while his mind chants back the resonance under Mihashi’s voice on his name, locks it down into his memory for future reference. “So. Practice. Tell me what you did today. And what you ate, did you have enough for lunch? How much do you weigh today? Is your wrist still sore?”

Mihashi starts to talk, fumbling his way through the questions out-of-order and tangling up his description of school with practice, but that’s okay. Abe can pull out the relevant pieces of information from the mess, can let the rest of the sentences wash over him with the texture of Mihashi’s mouth printed into them until he can shut his eyes and see the other boy behind his eyelids as if he were close enough to touch.

Abe has learned that the best way to get Mihashi to talk is to stay perfectly quiet, let the other boy ramble until he steadies himself enough that the nervous stammer fades from his voice and he no longer needs to be led to a topic. He’s remarkably effusive, as it turns out, though it took months before Abe mustered enough patience to realize that. Usually it’s something of a pain to wait until he’s sorted through his thoughts, but today it’s easy. Abe’s mind is still somewhat hazy and a little slow from the last remnants of fever and the bone-deep exhaustion of illness; it’s easy to lie back on the bed, settle his phone against his ear, and let his boyfriend’s voice lull him into almost-sleep.

It’s the lack of attention that trips him up, ultimately. He thinks he’s on his way to sleep, actually, trying to determine if he’s going to drop into unconsciousness with Mihashi actually still on the phone and unwilling to speak up to interrupt the other boy. But somewhere in the half-asleep blur of thoughts into reality that comes on the verge of sleep the soothing sound of Mihashi’s voice goes warm, warmer, hot under Abe’s skin, and by the time he realizes what’s happening and opens his eyes he’s angled himself down against the mattress and is unconsciously grinding himself into the resistance.

“Shit,” he hisses without thinking, rolls over onto his back and forces himself into full consciousness just as Mihashi’s words cut off sharply on the other end.

“A-abe-kun?”

 _Shit_. “It’s fine,” Abe says as calmly as he can manage. “I just...I was falling asleep, that’s all.”

“Oh.” A pause. “S-should I --”

“ _No_ ,” Abe says, too fast and too aggressively and before he has thought through the implications. “No, don’t go, keep talking to me. You were telling me about --” He has to search for the thread of thought, reel back his memory to collect information from the hum of Mihashi’s voice. “Tajima caught for you, you said?”

“Yeah.” There’s a pause, and when Mihashi starts speaking again it’s a little slower than it was, but when Abe stays quiet the other boy’s word falls back in sync with his thoughts within a few minutes.

Abe tries. He really does. He shuts his eyes and breathes slowly, tells himself he wants to sleep and should eat and that jerking off while his boyfriend tells him about his day is absolutely not what he should or wants to do. The first may be true but his body is insistent about disagreeing with the second, and from how long it’s taken Mihashi to review the school day Abe probably still has at least a few minutes until the end of this particular story before he’ll need to be coherent again.

Then Mihashi pauses to take a breath, audibly licks his lips before he goes on speaking, and Abe’s self-control evaporates before the other boy has even started his next sentence. His free hand comes down over his stomach, his fingers slide in past the top edge of his boxers, and he’s got his fingers around himself while Mihashi is talking about Coach’s newest tweak to Hanai’s training regime. He  _doesn’t_ moan, doesn’t even have to fight back a moan, just lets out a relieved breath that is so quiet that Mihashi doesn’t even pause.

Abe goes slowly, in consideration of keeping his breathing as level as possible for as long as possible. The world fades out, narrows like it does in a game, until there’s just the patter of Mihashi’s voice and the friction of Abe’s fingers on himself and the slow build of pleasure low in his stomach, tension climbing under his skin in spite of his best attempts to relax until he  _is_  breathing hard, has to tip the phone away from his mouth so he won’t catch Mihashi’s attention.

He’s coming up on the edge, can feel it rising in his blood like a wave, when Mihashi pauses. There’s a brief moment of dark amusement, as some part of Abe’s mind says  _of course it would be right now_  and some part of him rushes to steady his voice and level his breathing in advance of Mihashi’s voice asking, “Takaya?”

“Yeah?” He sounds gruff again but he can’t manage anything better, not without stopping and  _nothing_  can convince him to stop at this point.

“I. I want to see you.” There’s a pause. Abe closes his eyes, lets out his breath very, very slowly instead of as the groan it wants to be. “Can I -- if you’re not back tomorrow --” Another pause. A bubble of hysterical laughter presses in at Abe’s throat until he has to bite his lip to stay quiet, breathe in hard through his nose instead of his throat. “Can I visit?”

“I’m sick, Mihashi,” Abe says, the command in his words overriding his new habit and throwing him back on the old name. “The whole point of staying home is so no one catches it.”

“Oh.” That’s very soft, more of a whimper than a word, and Abe wants to sigh in exasperation and he wants to moan with the tension still winding in his body.

What he does is gasp air, manage “I  _want_  to see you, Ren,” in a tone that  _screams_  of what he’s doing, at least to his own ears.

It must not be as obvious as it feels to him, because Mihashi sighs like Abe’s grabbed at his hand and stolen all his fright. “I want to see you,” the other boy repeats back, turning the words soft and tender in his throat, and Abe has no resistance to that sincerity, hasn’t ever since that very first day.

“Okay,” he blurts, rushed and too-loud before he closes his mouth and shudders silently through his orgasm as he comes over the flushed skin of his stomach. He can hear Mihashi breathing, can hear the catch of delight at his agreement on the other end of the line, can see Mihashi’s wide-eyed surprise without even having to actually see him. Pleasure washes out into his limbs with more relaxation that all his overheated sleeping granted him earlier, and when Mihashi says, “Really?” there’s nothing he can do but laugh.

“Yeah.” He sounds a little better now, a little steadier and a little softer with the release of the tension that was pulling his throat tight and desperate. “I’m mostly better now, I’ll be fine tomorrow. And I want to see you.”

“I want to see you too,” Mihashi says again, repeating the words again like they’ll gain meaning with excess, as if Abe’s blood didn’t flare with delight the first time he said it.

“Yeah.” Abe blinks, shifts his arms so he’s settled a little more comfortably into the bed. “Ren, I’m --” A yawn catches him, interrupts his sentence so he goes unintelligible for a moment. “ _Ah_. I’m going to sleep.” He pushes at the edge of his boxers, strips down so the cool air of the room can dry the faint sheen of sweat on his skin. “You should sleep too. You have to be healthy to keep from catching this tomorrow.”

“Yes!” Mihashi is as instantly obedient as he always is, nearly chirping in his willingness to follow Abe’s instructions.

It makes Abe smile, the expression bleeding warmth into his words when he says, “Goodnight, Ren.”

“Goodnight, T-takaya.”

Abe shuts his phone one-handed, reaches up to set it on the nightstand, and rolls over and into the heavy pull of sleep.


End file.
